


Surrealist

by tristesses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Narcissa and Severus have a very long history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrealist

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on 7/13/2008.

Bellatrix had left; the slamming of the door still seemed to ring in the silence of Spinner’s End. The two remaining had resituated themselves in their respective seats, and now regarded each other carefully, one with wariness, the other with curiosity.

Narcissa reached out and took her wine glass; she was not shaking, as Severus had expected her to, given the sheer power of the Unbreakable Vow. In fact, she seemed completely composed, unruffled, and disinclined to leaving.

“Well, Narcissa?” he asked. She looked at him with cool grey eyes. “Do you need anything else?”

Narcissa studied him, lean and slightly hunched in his chair, eyes alert but features otherwise immovable.

“Perhaps,” she said. “I’m curious about a few things.”

He tilted his head, inviting her to continue.

“Bella mentioned the Potter boy, and his consistent survival, even with a Death Eater in the castle, around him at all times.” She paused, and licked her lips. “Your reasons for allowing him to live are logical. But I remember James Potter and his little group of sycophants. I remember what they did to you. How can you resist taking revenge on his son?”

“Simply, Narcissa,” said Severus silkily. “I obey the Dark Lord, and his wishes do not include me jeopardizing my place in the castle to even the score between me and a long-dead blood traitor.”

“I don’t believe that,” she replied, enunciating carefully.

He blinked, once, and asked, coolly, “Why not?”

Narcissa rearranged herself on the sofa, smoothing her robes, crossing her ankles. Severus watched her legs, as if he was worried she’d bolt.

“Because, Severus,” she said, using his given name almost mockingly, “you are clever enough by far to disguise the boy’s death as a freak accident, or perhaps a murder done by another Death Eater. The Dark Lord knows this, too. Unless there is a reason for this I know not – ”

“Of course there is, do not doubt the Dark Lord,” he interjected, but she continued.

“ – I believe you resist killing him because of…sentimental feelings.”

Severus stared at her for a moment, considered telling her the truth, then gave a short, hard laugh.

“Sentimental feelings? What _sentimental feelings_ could I possibly have for the Potter brat?”

“You were friends with Lily Evans.”

At the sight of Snape’s expression, Narcissa swallowed and averted her eyes. He had gone rigid and was glaring at her, as if she’d said something disgusting or blasphemous.

“Yes,” he snapped, forcing out the words from between clenched teeth, “yes, I was friends with Evans as a child. As I child, might I emphasize. I lost any feeling for her by my second year at Hogwarts, when I had decent purebloods pointing my way, as opposed to my whore of a mother and Mudblood father.”

Narcissa was very still; his words were vitriolic and his voice was still snapping with anger. She hadn’t known he had a Mudblood parent, though – it would explain his friendship with Evans, and his fractured family might also clarify his sudden, fiery hate for Mudbloods once he met the wannabe Death Eaters in fourth year at Hogwarts.

She could not resist baiting him: “But you were still friends with her by fourth year. We thought you were in love with her, as a matter of fact.”

His smile was more of a grimace. “Your memory is pristine, Narcissa.”

“Yes,” she said, “it always has been.”

“How is Lucius?” An abrupt change of subject, although she did note he never denied his infatuation with Evans.

“As well as can be expected,” she said, and downed her glass of wine. “He is concerned about Draco.”

“As are we all,” murmured Severus.

The conversation lulled; he was obviously waiting for her to leave, but she stubbornly remained on her sofa. Narcissa nibbled on her lower lip and considered.

 _Evans,_ she thought, _Lily Evans. How curious. Is he still in love with her? After all these years?_

She rose, and Severus climbed to his feet at the same time. He shadowed her to the door, hovering behind her as she clasped the brooch on her cloak, as if shepherding her out. She turned suddenly, and found herself alarmingly close, staring into his emotionless eyes. She could practically feel the heat rising off his skin under his black robes. A brief flash of his image undressed entered her mind.

Severus should have stepped back, but he didn’t. He seemed almost frozen, staring down at the blonde, whose expression was absolutely glacial, concealing her thoughts. Narcissa put her hand up, slowly, as if in a trance, and ran the pad of her thumb along his sharp cheekbone, tracing a path to his lips.

“Narcissa,” he whispered, “what are you – ”

“An experiment,” she murmured, and pressed her lips to his neck.

She could feel his pulse, thrumming quickly, and as she moved her mouth up, caressing the curve of his jawbone with her teeth, he grew tenser. His face was shadowed skeletally in the wasted light.

She kissed him, then, and he responded more quickly than she’d anticipated, opening his mouth to her, sliding one hand to cup the base of her skull, pulling her closer with the other. She kissed him, and he relaxed, grew more certain, more aggressive.

A sudden gleam of pain sparked on her head; Severus had wound his fingers in her hair and yanked, dragging her head back. She clawed at his robes until he let go, a slight smirk playing over his lips.

“Try that again – ” she hissed, a half-hearted reprimand, and tore at the buttons on his robes, sending them flying. He had her pressed against the wall tightly, looming over her like a giant bat, methodically unclasping her brooch, unbuttoning her robe, running his hands over her smooth white skin.

Now they pulled each other close, skin to skin, nails drawing welts across their backs and shoulders. Hips colliding, pushing closer, both of them panting and flushed. Narcissa heard herself speak as if from a distance, a flow of words in a low snarl.

“Would she do this, your Mudblood bitch, would she bite and suck and tear you to pieces like I do? Do you think she can reach those dead rotting hands from the grave and touch you like I do – ”

She dragged her nails down his chest in deliberate mockery of her previous struggles, leaving barely bleeding scrapes, and took his cock in her hand. Severus hissed and thrust forward; she only smirked, and dropped to her knees, nuzzling his inner thigh, running her tongue lightly, delicately, across his sac.

“Would Lily do _this_?” she breathed, and took him in her mouth.

Severus lurched forward and braced himself on the wall. One hand found itself cradling Narcissa’s head, stroking the blonde hair in a surprising display of gentleness.

She was raising goosebumps on his skin, stroking and licking and scratching, cupping his arse with one hand, leaving divots in his skin with her nails. Barely pulling away, she looked up at him. Their eyes met. Narcissa ran her tongue along his shaft, refusing to look away.

“This is surreal,” she whispered, and leaned forward and bit him, hard, on the patch of skin directly below his navel. He jerked away from her, hard, but she had him in her hands, and he snatched her hair convulsively as he came, exhaling sharply, almost moaning, the most unlaced and out of control she had ever seen him. She sat below him, patient, waiting for his breathing to even out, his semen drying on her chest.

“Yes,” he said after a time. His voice sounded shellshocked, almost weary. “You are surreal.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, and stood, glowing like a statue in the dim light, encircled by his arms. Severus moved almost immediately, dropping his arms and stepping back. Narcissa grabbed him by the shoulders; he remained still more out of politeness than her physical strength.

“I hope you don’t think we’re finished here,” she said, a hint of a challenge in her voice.

“Ah. Of course not.”

His hand, large with slender fingers, touched her waist gently, almost delicately, and sketched a path to her breast, carefully brushing her nipple with one calloused thumb. Narcissa stood absolutely still, breathing quietly, reveling in the feel of those perfectly controlled hands. They were the hands of a Potions Master.

His fingers skated up her inner thigh and cupped her sex; she tilted her hips toward him, unconsciously seizing his shoulders as he slid one finger inside her. Repaying the favor, she thought, and let her head fall back, rocking her hips to the rhythm of his hands.

Narcissa showed her arousal through her breathing; it was unsteady, shallow, and she let out a whimper and pitched forward into Severus’s arms when she climaxed.

“You don’t love her,” she said eventually. “Not the way you did at Hogwarts.”

He stiffened and stepped back, glaring at her with black eyes. She remained composed, bending to collect her robes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he snapped.

“If you really loved her – if you really loved Lily – ” she paused, enjoying the flash of anguish on his face, “ – you wouldn’t just have fucked your best friend’s wife against the door.”

He flinched, a movement only just visible, and said, “I have no friends, least of all your husband.”

“I’ll be sure to let Lucius know.” Narcissa clasped the brooch on her cloak; she looked angelic, even with her hair mussed. Her transformation from lover to acquaintance was almost sickening.  
She handed him his robe.

“Here. I apologize for the missing buttons.”

The door creaked, and she left. The slam echoed like her sister’s exit before. Severus shook out his robe and shrugged it on, fastening those buttons that remained with simple, controlled motions. He glanced at the door and sneered. Narcissa was lovely, but she didn’t know what she was talking about. Like Severus would restrain from killing Potter because of Lily.

He refused to acknowledge the truth behind her accusation, instead walking out of the room, leaving only a scattering of buttons on the floor and the scent of sweat in the air.

Wormtail untucked himself from the shadowed corner he’d been hiding in and crept to the door. Narcissa had left a hairpin at the threshold; it glinted even in the dim light. He picked it up with pudgy fingers, and crouched at the door, smiling, smirking, plotting.


End file.
